Wary
by Bonsoir
Summary: FE13. The daring adventures of Frederick the Wary of Telling the Truth and Frederick the Perfectly Capable of Lying His Ass Off. Frederick/Cordelia.


**Title:** Wary  
**Characters:** Frederick, Cordelia  
**Genre:** Romance, Humor  
**Words:** 1,705  
**Notes:** For the OTP Meme that's been going around Tumblr. This is number four of ten for this pairing. (They are not connected.) I figured a funny Fred/Cordy 'fic was in order.  
**Prompt:** #25: "Gazing into each other's eyes"

* * *

Frederick was in an awkward position. Well, not _position_, since he was seated with his knee exactly one foot from that of his companion. It was more like an awkward _situation_.

The conversation between them had started out as usual; Cordelia greeted him with a bright smile before she took a seat next on his right, her hands smoothing down the back of her skirt as she sat to prevent wrinkles and indecency when she later stood, though he knew from experience that her skirt would stick to the back of her legs in the summer heat and he would have to avert his eyes, at least for a moment, and pretend not to notice.

Perhaps that thought caused his mind to meander in the first place. Cordelia always spoke to him easily, about the weather, supplies, food—anything, really. And she spoke so _much_ that he rarely had to say anything at all beyond the occasional, "Yes," "of course," "you're absolutely right."

It would be dishonorable for Frederick to fail to pay attention when someone was talking to him, and it would be downright despicable for him to do such a thing to Cordelia, because he admired her so very much, so he usually paid her conversation close attention. It was nice to not have to interject long, thoughtful statements to everything that Cordelia said; she just enjoyed talking. And he enjoyed listening to her.

In that way, they were wholly compatible, as friends and hopefully more. She would be as devoted a wife as she was a friend, he was certain, and as boyishly stupid as the thought made him feel, he liked it. To be married to someone as talented and beautiful as Cordelia—well, many men went their whole lives and never found what they were looking for, but Frederick was seated right next to the woman of his dreams.

That was probably why he had such a hard time tearing his eyes away from her as she spoke. He'd be a fool if he ever did anything to make her leave his side. She was amazing.

"So then, Sumia said," she was saying, but he was too busy watching her lips move, exposing the inside of her mouth and the edges of her straight teeth, to really know what she was talking about.

That was how he'd ended up in an awkward situation. Or maybe it was sort-of a position.

"Frederick? What _is_ the matter with you?" she asked, and that was when he realized he hadn't heard a thing she'd said since she'd sat down, and that he'd been staring at her for an undetermined amount of time.

In Frederick's World, losing track of time was practically worthy of a long talk with the nearest person capable of healing the ill.

The worst part was that Cordelia looked concerned.

Frederick found himself presented with two options. The first was to tell the truth, though he was certain Cordelia would not appreciate hearing him say something Duke Virion would say but in a deeper more monotone voice, sounding quite inelegant. It was not an acceptable reason to stare, at any rate. The second was to lie and lie like only Frederick the Wary and Perfectly Capable of Lying His Ass Off could do. In this instance, he would be wary of telling the truth, and would instead lie.

He would not lie his _ass off_, though. His buttocks were too useful a part of his anatomy; it was thanks to them that he could sit comfortably upon the short brick wall that he currently occupied with Cordelia.

He would just lie. A regular sort of lie—nothing that would make him feel dishonorable. A knight in his position could not tell horrific falsehoods.

But Frederick the Wary was still Frederick the Wary of Telling the Truth, so he took a deep breath and did what he had to do.

"My apologies," he said, eyes narrowing as an excuse (read: lie) came to mind. "It is just that…there is food…on your face."

He tried to say it in a way that would give the idea that he was loathe to bring it up—nay, embarrassed to point it out. Nobody liked to be That Person—the one who had to point out to someone else that they had stepped in wyvern dung or had sweated in a way that looked as if they'd wet themselves.

Cordelia stared back at him, and he shifted his gaze to her eyes instead of her mouth.

"Really," she said, sounding amused though her voice was flat.

"Really." His tone matched hers, but had an edge of sympathy surrounding it, a polite, _I'm sorry I had to bring this to your attention,_ way of speaking.

She didn't say anything for fourteen long seconds. Then, finally, with one eyebrow lifted as they continued to stare at one another, she prompted, "Well, where is it?"

"On your face," he said, not letting his eyes go back to her mouth, concerned that if they did, he might forget to look away again.

She giggled, and that startled him into blinking.

"I win," she said.

"Win what?"

"The staring contest you were having with me."

"It was not a staring contest, I assure you."

"I'm pretty sure," she said with a smile, "that you were staring at the food particle in the hopes that it would fall from my face, intimidated."

"Maybe." He wondered if that was possible to do, but since there wasn't any food on her face, he couldn't attempt an intimidation technique at the moment.

"Are you going to remove it or do I have to do it myself?"

"All right," he agreed, but was slow to lift his hand to brush away what was an imaginary, unnamed type of edible thing sticking to her face. He had been staring at her mouth, so he eventually decided that the food on her face (that did not actually exist) was there, and brushed his thumb half over her upper lip: once, twice, and then a third time, as if he was having trouble getting all of it off.

"Did you get it?" she asked when he pulled away.

"Yes," he answered, and lowered his hand, albeit reluctantly. He hoped she did not notice. "You are safe from all manner of food, I believe."

"Frederick the Wary-of-Vegetables," she said, quite seriously. "I was hoping that no one would notice I'd had a snack. You might have saved me some embarrassment."

"It is a worthwhile opponent, I believe," he told her. He was kind of feeling it himself.

"Thank you," she said.

"You are welcome. I am sorry to have been distracted from your conversation by its existence." It was a load of pegasus poo, as Sumia would say.

"Well, since you were brave enough to mention it," she said, slowly, "I don't feel so silly in pointing out that you, too, have food on your face."

"No," he said, semi-horrified, and brushed his hand across his own mouth. "Did I get it?"

She laughed. "No, it's," she licked her thumb and brushed it against the side of his nose, but her brow furrowed after a moment. "It's not coming off."

It was his turn to smile. "That's a freckle," he said, and watched her cheeks turn as red as her hair.

"W-Well," she sputtered, "I know there was no food on my face, because _I_ looked in Sumia's looking glass just before I came to find you."

His face felt warm, suddenly. "I should not have lied," he said, carefully. "My apologies."

"We'll be married, soon," she said, softly. "It's okay to kiss me, if you want. It will be an awkward wedding night if you spend it staring at me, you know."

"May I, then?" he asked, to avoid picturing what Cordelia would look like on their wedding night; there was a time and a place to think of those things, and in public in front of a lady was certainly not one of them.

"Of course," she said, and smiled.

So he kissed her.

Or tried.

But she didn't close her eyes, and when he was a quarter-inch from her face he stopped.

"What's wrong?" she asked, and her lips brushed his just from her words.

"You didn't close your eyes."

"Why should I?" she asked. "You can close yours."

"I want to see you."

"I want to see you, too," she defended.

That made his heart constrict, but pleasantly. "Cordelia," he tried, "we'll kiss and both be cross-eyed. That's not—"

"Romantic?" she suggested. "I suppose it's not. Maybe if we close our eyes halfway, it won't be so strange."

So he agreed and kissed her with his eyes half open, but after a few moments, his eyes slipped closed of their own accord, and she giggled against his mouth.

When she broke away, she said, "I win again."

"No, the first time cannot count, because I was not aware it was a contest. Next time we're going to try it with our eyes open all the way, and we'll see who wins."

"I will, of course," she told him, self-assuredly. He thought that made her about a hundred times more attractive.

So he kissed her with more passion than he probably should have, considering they were not yet married, and she blinked in surprise, which made him smile, though he certainly didn't break the kiss to tell her that.

"Now we're even," he whispered when he pulled away.

She jumped off of the short wall and grinned, peeling her skirt off of the back of her legs. "Until next time, anyway," she told him, and patted his cheek. "And the wedding night doesn't count."

"The morning after does," he suggested.

"That's fair."

"You should get some rest. Tomorrow will be a busy day."

"And maybe a busy night," she said with a straight face. "Or are you Frederick the Wary in Bed, too?"

"I suppose you will have to wait and see," he said, completely composed, though one corner of his mouth did quirk up a bit. "Good night, Cordelia."

"Good night, Frederick. I'll see you at the altar tomorrow."

"And I you," he smiled.


End file.
